wormwood, 2023

Canvas Print, Canvas, Ready to hang

Printed to size: 40cm (W) x 30cm (H) x 5.5cm (D)

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Complete Your Piece With A Wood Frame

A$305

Arrives 25–28 Sep

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Original Artwork's Description


I am the city afar, the concrete jungle.
Incubator of madness, I am the cradle of apathy.
Bake do I nightly, o white neon oven, drawer of masses my people are moths.
See they-selves riche, do I see they as sloths, eating, drinking, rutting, slutting, slitting, bleeding.
Meeces to pieces I watch as they drop,
mouse on a wheel as this world comes apart,
just a little bit faster I want you to run
So the larger I grow as you older do get.
Smell the rot of my masses slow dying within
Stench rising like smoke their parfum but a veil.
I am the city burning afar.

I am the sun. Warmth I do bring on the moth-folk so cold,
high white I fly though black I may be,
might just as well for the meeces don’t see,
heads crooked on low I watch hotly above as the screens turn them wholesale to wormwood.
Fly moth to the light, all day and then night yet no stars do they see,
share the same fate as I all day gazing down,
I at their heads and they at their screens.
I am the cold sun, black as night what you see.

I am the future, on two legs I stand,
sway in the breeze though it soft as a whisp,
Talk do I not yet by text I do speak as that dark sun above,
on my head it shines cold.
My back yes is turned to the moth-mound behind,
but in it I live as the hypnotised do
Beside millions of others I’m there yet am not
as I might as well be on the moon all alone,
keep I warm by the screen my hand forever holds
is my mumma and pop and my uncle and aunt
and my brother and sis one big digital fam
Neatly sits tucked into the palm of my hand,
to Hell with what’s ‘round for I have my phone.
Know I the future care not for your cries
Shattered hopes even less for I have one not.
Drown that spark in the night for I have my phone,
Your worst dream I be as a thorn in the toe
every step will you wince yes I’ll force you to see,
My lost days a million, a zombie I be.
Detritus that stands in a smart-city cell
Jail of my making I live in her walls
Neck bowed to my warden that glows in my face
Beat all to finish that do-nothing race,
For I am the future,
And wormwood it be.

Artist Bio

All life is pain.
The beginning. The end. Most in-between..
Anyone who says differently is selling something.
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